Dark Diamond
by Cazzychaps
Summary: What if when crossing the country to settle in the west, Ben had lost Adam to a raging river? The Cartwrights are changed forever without Adam's influence, but after many years a mysterious bounty hunter by the name of Adam Diamond turns up. His presence prompts Ben to relive what happened to his first born son on that faithful crossing.


"No!" Ben Cartwright sat bolt upright. Had he screamed out loud?

"Pa, you okay?"

Ben blinked through the murky darkness of pre-dawn. He saw a narrow wedge of light and his eldest son's tall frame in the doorway to his room.

"I'm . . .fine, son. Don't worry, go back to bed."

"You sure?"

"Yeah . . .yeah I'm sure. Sorry."

"Was it that dream again?"

Ben lowered his gaze. He didn't want to recall anything about the jumbled nightmare. "Not sure."

"Sounded like it."

"Don't worry, son. I'm fine. You get some sleep."

"Well, you know where I am if you need to talk."

"Thanks, son. Goodnight."

Ben waited for his eldest to close the door, but he seemed in no hurry.

"Pa, Joe's not back from town yet."

"That boy," Ben said flatly. "Can't do a thing with him."

"I'm worried he's going to fall into the wrong company sooner or later."

"Not much we can do to stop him." Ben rubbed his eyes - too weary to be worried about his youngest son. "He's headstrong, you know that."

"Yeah, but- "

"- But nothing. He'll find out the hard way."

"Sure, Pa. 'Night."

"Goodnight, Hoss."

Ben listened to Hoss's footsteps in the hallway until they melted into silence. He slumped back against the bed head and sighed. If he slept again, would the dream come back? Why had it reoccurred after so long? What was the date? Ah yes, it was the beginning of May, a month that had brought him both overwhelming joy and tragedy.

He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. Standing slowly, stretching the kinks in his aching back, Ben crossed to the small window. He rubbed the frosted glass and looked heavenward. The North Star twinkled back at him, reminding him of past loves and losses.

Once a very long time ago, he'd put faith in that star. He'd used it to navigate by, trusted it to point the way to a better future. The star had let him down, badly. He grimaced.

"Face it, Cartwright. You can't blame anyone or anything but yourself," he mumbled as he stared into the diamond-studded sky. You messed your own life up. You weren't dependable enough. Can't you get that through your head?

Ben squeezed his eyes shut. No, he couldn't start it all again: the blame, the regrets and the anger. He'd finally gotten past all that hadn't he? So why did he feel so dead inside? He looked up again at the steady, almost defiant twinkle in the sky above.

"I'm sorry, Liz," he blurted. Then he shifted his gaze to a smaller, duller star just below the first. "I'm sorry, Adam."

He closed his eyes, turned blindly and walked back to the bed. He wouldn't sleep again that night. Thanks to his dream, the vision of his tiny son drowning in the murky depths of the Mississippi all those years ago would continue to haunt him for the rest of the night.

Joe Cartwright tried to keep a straight face as he looked at the cards he'd been dealt. Luckiest break he'd had all night. Just as well. His purse was all but cleaned out.

"You in?" asked the menacing Jake Matthews from across the table.

"Yeah, why not," said Joe as casually as he could.

"Me too," said Carl Regan, a friend that Joe knew had started kicking around with the bad gang in town. Joe didn't hold that against Carl. He just hoped that he wouldn't agree to ride off with them and leave him behind. Carl was like an older brother to him. Different from Hoss, he taught him things he probably shouldn't know.

It didn't matter to Joe what company Carl kept. In fact, he often toyed with the idea of joining up with a gang himself to get away from his folks. Nothing to keep him roped and tied; a moderate farm, one serious, girl shy brother and a father who seemed to live in the past way too much.

No, Joe could do with some new excitement in his life. Nobody would stop him from getting it. He didn't really like the sound of the men Carl had been hanging around with, but maybe they were a way out. Once he was free Joe could go his own way.

Jake Matthews, the man running the game, was a member of that gang. Duke Brogan was the notorious leader. Joe had seen him a couple of times, and he looked meaner than a snake. He'd agree to follow Carl if it wasn't for Duke. Joe knew he was the kind of man that shot others in the back for pleasure. However lax his father was in controlling his movements, Joe did have a clear sense of right and wrong.

Joe turned his attention back to the poker game. The four other men at the table all added to the ante. Joe brightened. This could turn out to be the best hand of the night.

"How many?" Jake asked.

Joe asked for one and prayed for a diamond. He already had the ace, king, queen and ten. Could he hope for the jack? Even a full house would be enough, but a royal flush would be the crowning glory.

He tried to will away the beads of sweat he could feel forming on his forehead as he turned his new card over. Diamond: jack. Yes! Play it cool, Cartwright.

"I'll bet ten," said Carl. The others soon followed his bet. It was raised to thirty by the time it got to Joe.

"I'll see that and raise another twenty," said Joe trying to act unsure.

"That'll clean you out for the night, Joe" said Carl.

"Don't matter. It's about time I was heading home anyway."

"Don't be runnin' out just yet, kid. I'll raise another thirty," said Jake with a toothless sneer.

"That's too rich for me," complained one of the others.

Joe continued to hang in without drawing too much attention to himself. In the end, it was Jake who asked to 'see' him.

The pot was well over three hundred dollars, way more than Joe had started with.

"I got a lucky hand, Jake. Royal flush." Joe laid his cards out and sat back finally letting a huge grin split his face. The other player's eyes all bugged out looking at the dream hand.

In the background, the batwing doors opened slowly. A man entered and slipped into a dingy corner of the room. He moved smoothly and quietly enough not to attract any attention. His sharp eyes surveyed the room, like a hawk spotting its prey from high above.

Card table, back to the wall. Yes, no doubt. Carl Regan; the man who could lead him to his latest quarry, Duke Brogan.

The stranger shifted the long flap of his black duster to one side. He glanced down and checked the load in his shotgun. He didn't have to check his handgun. He knew the Colt was fully loaded. As he looked up he caught movement from the back room.

A pretty saloon girl had sprung up from her chair and was making a beeline for him. He pulled his black eyebrows down and gave her a dangerous look that quickly sobered her eager features. She sat back down dejectedly. The man held her gaze for a moment longer and, for a brief second, smiled and winked with a promise for later. She smiled realizing all was not lost.

"Cartwright, you cheated!"

The stranger shifted his attention back to the poker table. He studied the group carefully. Who was the one they'd called Cartwright?

"Did not, Jake! I was dealt those cards fair and square."

"Give the kid a break, Jake. That's the first hand he's won all night," argued Carl.

"You in on the scam too, Regan? Might have known you would be."

"I ain't in on anything, Jake. You'd better shut your mouth about it."

"Want to take this further, Regan?"

The man in the corner gave all three arguing poker players a long, hard stare, particularly Cartwright. He then watched as the one called Jake stood slowly and released the leather strap from the hammer of his handgun. The stranger flicked through the wanted posters filed in his memory. He couldn't see the aggressor well as he was angled away from him. If he could see the man's face clearly he'd know what he was dealing with.

"I don't wanna fight you, Jake," said young Cartwright.

"Let's just play poker. You'll get the kid's money back eventually," said Carl Regan.

"I'm not a kid!" argued Cartwright.

The stranger considered the boy and silently disagreed with the statement. He was barely seventeen if that. Looked hot-tempered too. The kind who'd get himself shot over a lousy poker game before he had a chance at life.

"I'll take you on, Jake. Outside, now," cried Cartwright.

"I'll back you up, Joe," said Carl.

"You're on, kid. You're gonna die, but not in the street. It'll be here, right now!" yelled Jake.

Several chairs scrapped, as patrons and the remaining poker players scrambled to get out of the way.

The man in the corner was the only one seemingly unconcerned with the threat. He rustled around in his pocket, picked out a fresh cigar and put it to his lips. The walls were lined with onlookers. Some had fled the saloon. The working girls huddled in the back, straining to see from a safe distance.

Everything went silent. The thick, smoky atmosphere hung undisturbed. The three players made a triangle around the poker table. Their hands twitched alongside their gun belts. Nobody was left sitting. Nobody except the stranger in the back corner.

A match flared in the darkness.

The men around the table flinched at the tiny noise and turned their heads toward him.

"Okay boys, that's far enough." The stranger's voice was smooth, deep and authoritative. Lazy with confidence, the southern drawl stopped the players in their tracks. "How 'bout you pull those weapons out nice and slow and slide 'em over here on the floor."

It wasn't a question. The stranger lit his cigar and drew in a mouthful of smoke, all the time watching each tiny movement, any sign of disobedience.

"This ain't any of your affair," said the one called Joe Cartwright. "This is between him and me."

"Yeah, I don't see no badge winkin' out at me," said Jake with less bravado that he'd probably planned.

"I don't wear a badge," drawled the man. "But I do have a shotgun under my coat and an aim that'll blow a few holes clean through your stomach . . .or back," he added smoothly, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that he would do it.

"We ain't got no quarrel with you, mister," said Jake.

"Guns, down. Now." His voice was no louder but it sounded meaner.

Joe was the first to comply. He took out his fancy ivory-handled piece and threw it down onto the wooden floor at the man's boots. Carl relented next, but he kept his eye on Jake.

"Okay, mouth. Turn around, nice and slow and throw that gun down," said the man in black.

"How do I know you won't shoot me anyhow?" whined Jake.

"You don't. But right now my finger's gettin' tired. So make it quick." The last word was more like the growl of a lion. Deep, low, threatening.

Jake's shoulders slumped. He removed his gun and threw it down. Then he turned to view the stranger straight on.

The stranger smiled slowly. Sure, he knew this one. Good price on his head, but not as high as Duke's. This loser could wait. Maybe he was part of the gang too. Could he be so lucky? But Carl was a better bet. He still hadn't crossed the criminal line - yet.

"Okay," he said to Jake, "get going. I don't wanna see your face in here for a few days."

Jake squinted trying to make out the dark, menacing man's features but couldn't. He decided not to chance it and stepped sideways toward the door.

"You wait, you dog. I'll get you," he called back.

The man waited until Jake left. He turned his gaze back to Cartwright. "Kid, get going," he said next.

"Not without Carl."

"Sorry, no can do."

At this comment, Carl's eyes widened. "I ain't done nothing!"

"Never said you did."

"You're not the sheriff! Sam, go get Roy Coffee," demanded Cartwright.

The bartender didn't move.

"Nobody gets hurt if you do as I say. Both of you, over here, now!" the stranger hissed in his menacing tone.

Joe Cartwright and Carl Regan hesitated then slowly approached the man's table. He continued to enjoy his cigar, taking deep drags, savoring the flavor. He was completely relaxed.

"What're you after," said Cartwright in a loud, excited voice.

"Simmer down, kid. Take a load off. You too, Regan."

"How do you know my name? I don't know you," spat Carl.

"No, you don't. And I'm sure you'll prefer to keep it that way." The man studied the eyes of both young men.

"What are you, some kind of lawman?"

"No . . .Cartwright, is it?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Nothing. Just filing your name away in case I need it again sometime." The man stared into the hazel green, angry eyes of youth. He recognized the frustration. He'd been the same a long time ago. But now he knew how to handle such emotions.

"One day you might be sorry you remembered," blurted Cartwright.

"Maybe." He dismissed the boy as all mouth and looked at his real quarry, Carl Regan.

"You know a man called Duke?" he asked softly, his southern inflection more pronounced the lower he spoke.

"Duke? Don't think so," lied Carl.

"I think you do," he replied after one more drag on his cigar. He took his time putting it out and stuffing it back into his pocket before he spoke again. "I'm giving you a lucky break. You mix yourself up with those fellas and you won't see your next birthday. Either of you," he added including Cartwright in the statement.

"Bounty hunter, ain't ya?"

"If you know where he is, you'd be wise to tell me," said the stranger ignoring Carl's question.

"Why should we?" said Cartwright.

"Because if you don't, you'll end up dead. Either at my hand or somebody else's." The man stared long and hard at Cartwright who seemed troubled by his unwavering dark eyed stare.

"What makes you think you could take us both?" said Carl with a nervous giggle.

"I don't think I can; I know I can. Call it . . .experience."

Carl's cocky attitude faded. "I'll think on it."

"Carl!" snarled Cartwright.

"Stay out of it, Joe."

"Good, Regan. If you decide to co-operate, I'll be back here Friday night same time. Cartwright, I suggest you go home - if you got one - until this blows over."

"You got no right to treat me like some kid," he said, jumping up with rage.

The man sighed and looked up at the hot-tempered whelp. He had to scare him good otherwise he'd get in the way and probably get killed.

The stranger stood up, slowly, smoothly. His tall frame towered over Joe Cartwright. The kid, to his credit, tried to hide his growing fright. The man leaned forward; his powerful, wide shouldered torso crowded Joe back into the corner. The dark stubble on his face lent a savage edge to his looks.

"Listen up good, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once more. You've got your whole life ahead of you, boy. If you stick your nose in here, it'll be blown clean off, along with other parts of you. Don't mess with me or Duke and his crowd. Understand?"

Joe Cartwright, wild-eyed but subdued, nodded slightly.

"Good." The man crossed his arms. The black duster coat he wore presented a solid, sinister wall. He turned his eyes to the older of the two. "Regan, I'll look for you Friday. If you don't show then I'll consider you one of my prey, understand?" He narrowed his lids and stared him down.

"Yeah, I understand."

The stranger waited for them to retreat. He didn't speak again. He watched as Joe looked down at his gun still lying on the floor. The stranger nodded once, an invitation for them to collect their handguns and go. They took his offer, picked up their weapons and hurried to the door.

Once they were gone, the man sighed and let his tense muscles relax. He flexed his neck and sat down again. The barkeep hurried over to serve him.

"What can I get you? It's on the house."

The man smiled. "I'll pay. Get me a whiskey, the good stuff." He leaned back in his chair. After a moment he glanced into the back room again. The pretty saloon girl was still there sitting on the edge of her seat. Almost like a puppy waiting to be called by her master. She looked at him hopefully with big blue eyes.

The man relented. He felt like some company tonight. He had a few days until Friday. No use busting his gut on the job yet. He let his mouth form a smile revealing one sexy dimple. He jerked his head to invite her over. She arrived at his table in record time.

"What's your name, sugar?" he asked in a honeyed tone far removed from the one he'd used on his quarry.

"Betty."

"Thirsty, Betty?" he asked as the barkeep arrived with the whiskey and two glasses.

"Sure am."

He filled her glass and passed it over.

"What's your name, mister?" she asked while delicately sipping on the strong spirit. The stranger watched her tongue as she licked the taste of the whiskey from her full red lips. His body stirred pleasantly.

"Mr Diamond at your service, ma'am." He leaned forward and took her hand kissing the back of it gently. She giggled softly.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Diamond."

"Call me Adam."

"Are you gonna tell that bounty hunter what he wants to know, Carl? Joe walked his paint the last mile to the turnoff to the Ponderosa.

"I ain't gonna tell him nothin'. I don't owe him, and he don't scare me," said Carl with a nervous giggle.

Joe thought that Carl probably should be scared of the man in black, but he wasn't about to say so. Carl turned off partway to the ranch house. He lived with his father in the foreman's cabin. "You gonna come with me tomorrow? I thought I might take a ride out to King's Canyon."

"Is that where that Duke's hold up?" said Joe cautiously."

"Don't know but Jake said he'd introduce me to a few friends of his that could make us some good money."

"I've got chores pilin' up at home," replied Joe. "Besides, Jake wants revenge for that poker hand. Think I'll stay and cut some timber for Pa."

"That's a fool's way to earn money, Joe. Breakin' your back."

"At least I'll live!"

"See you tomorrow." Carl split from him and laughed into the night.

Joe continued on as dawn broke through the cloud- encrusted sky. It didn't matter what time he got home, his father wouldn't scold him. Neither would Hoss. Sometimes he almost wished they would; then he'd know that they cared for him.

He'd lost touch with his former best friend, Mitch, because the boy had much stricter parents. They'd thought Joe a bad influence. But that wasn't true. Joe knew right from wrong. He was simply getting bored with the right.

He looked at the dark shape of the house as he approached. Single story, it was of moderate size and comfortable with a steep roof to handle the heavy snow.

His father had often talked about building a bigger house with an upstairs. But whenever he started to plan it and add the bedrooms, he seemed to become depressed and abandon the project. Joe would've liked a bedroom upstairs that looked over the barn and the yard.

He dismounted and put up his horse. His thoughts turned back to the threatening man in the saloon. When he'd stared at him he'd reminded Joe of somebody. Dark eyes, intimidating words with barely a raised voice. Powerful frame and stubborn crossed arms had put Joe on the back foot. If only he could figure out who he reminded him of.

He shivered as he crossed the yard to the house. Joe didn't want to run into that man again in a hurry. He'd quit following Carl around for the next few days. He was young but he wasn't stupid. He wanted excitement, but he didn't want to die to get it.

Cartwright.

The name had disturbed Adam's sleep for many years. Now it just made him mildly curious. He lay in bed on his back, arms tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling above. The high moon allowed him to make out the cobwebs hanging in the corners of the rented room. Beside him, Betty stirred and turned over, bumping her bare backside against his thigh in the process.

Adam smiled. She'd been sweet and willing to please; just what he'd needed. He enjoyed the company of women and he indulged often. He'd never been tempted to marry though. Too many bad memories of his own parent's marriage left a sour taste in his mouth. Instead, he took comfort from the women who waited for him from town to town. He enjoyed spoiling them with the booty from hunting down killers.

It was the type of lifestyle that had no future. Adam knew that but didn't feel inclined to change it yet. At least he had control over his destiny this way. He'd chosen to live in the moment and be content with no ties to bind him.

Cartwright.

The name nagged his subconscious. Why couldn't he wipe it from his memory once and for all?

"Mmm, Adam, you're still awake?" purred a sleepy voice from his left.

"Only so as I could watch you sleep, darlin'," he replied lazily. "You look real fine lying there beside me." Adam turned onto his side and propped one hand under his head. Looking down on the lovely Betty, he shut out his irritating thoughts.

"You come to town often?" she asked hopefully, lifting her hand and running her fingers along his hair covered chest.

"It's my first time."

Betty giggled and moved her hand lower. "I hope it's not your last!"

Joe woke up close to noon. He's missed chores, breakfast and probably lunch. He stumbled out of bed and winced when he looked at his disheveled reflection in the pier glass. He hadn't drunk that much but he still felt lousy. At least he wouldn't have to explain to anyone.

He padded out to the kitchen and found Hop Sing had left a cold pot of oatmeal on the stove. He sighed and knew the little Chinese cook was angry with him again. He hated anyone missing a meal. Joe knew they were lucky to have him because they couldn't afford to pay him much, yet he seemed to like living with them. But he had a temper and missing meals brought it out in him.

Joe passed over the oatmeal and took some warm coffee instead. Heading back to the parlor he sat on the well-worn sofa and put his feet on the coffee table before the fireplace.

"Finally up, huh son?"

Joe, startled by the intrusion, looked behind him to his father's desk. It nestled in the corner of the small room.

"Hi, Pa."

"I hoped that you might've gone with Hoss today - to the logging site."

"Oh yeah . . .sorry I forgot." He heard his father shuffling papers. Why didn't he insist he go? Why didn't his father take more control and scold him for being forgetful and staying out late? He's probably decided I'm worthless and doesn't give a damn.

"Doesn't matter. Probably won't be able to fulfill the logging contract anyway. I've got no idea how to plan the extraction."

"Maybe you should just skip it, Pa?" The herd's bigger this spring. You've got Mr Regan as foreman now. We'll do all right without the logging money." Joe reached over to grab an apple, but the bowl was empty.

"True enough, Joe," came Ben's monotone voice. "We'll get by this year without extras. Just that I'd hoped we might afford to expand a bit. Maybe buy a new bull, more breeding stock. I also thought you boys might like some time off. You never get to leave the ranch."

Joe brightened at this. Could the logging help with gaining his freedom? Maybe he should take more interest. But Carl was right. Logging was a tough way to earn a living. Slow too.

"Don't worry about us, Pa. We don't want nothin' too much. I'll go up to the logging tomorrow and help Hoss. Maybe we'll figure out that contract for you, huh?"

"Sure son."

His father smiled at him with his empty brown eyes as Joe walked past. So much like the bounty hunter's eyes. Of course! That's who the stranger had reminded him of, his father.

But only in his looks. Their personalities were far removed. Ben wasn't as authoritative, threatening or intimidating. He also didn't give orders. As Joe walked out into the sunshine, he wondered how different his life would have been had Ben been stricter.

dam kept his black stallion at a comfortable canter. He enjoyed the ride in the warm spring sunshine. He'd decided to go out to the lake where he'd been told Joe Cartwright lived. He didn't intend to call on the kid. He was merely curious.

Even after all these years and dozens of disappointments he couldn't help himself when it came to finding out about folks with the surname Cartwright.

Betty had told him that Joe lived on a moderate ranch called the Ponderosa. Same as the pines that flanked him now. He looked up and marveled at the majestic trees.

Soon he came upon the lake. A huge blue jewel under a cloudless sky, Adam breathed the thin air deeply. His horse snorted, more labored than usual in the high altitude.

A beautiful spot, no doubt. The landscape was much more pristine than the humid marshlands and swamps of his native Georgia. If he'd had the choice earlier in life, Adam may have settled somewhere like this.

When his horse seemed sufficiently recovered, Adam made his way slowly along the lake's edge. What were these Cartwright's like? Where had they come from?

Adam mentally scolded himself. He'd sworn an oath several years ago to forget his vague memories. They could even be wrong. His mother had said they were only dreams, nightmares. But he'd never been sure. He knew his mother wouldn't lie to him deliberately. But she might have protected him had the truth been unpalatable.

Two vivid memories had stayed with him since early childhood: traveling in a wagon and camping under the stars at night with a big strong man beside him caring for him, and writing the name Adam Cartwright with chalk on a piece of slate over and over again.

Apart from that, Adam only truly recalled memories from the time that he was about five years old. He wished he couldn't remember the beatings his father had served out to him, his siblings and especially his poor mother. But he did, and that made him dislike most of his fellow men. Maybe that's why he hunted down killers for a living.

Adam narrowed his lids as he rode into the late morning sun. His horse nickered at a distant noise. Adam pulled him up and listened. He heard the sound of axe on wood. He knew that sound, intimately recalling the enormous woodpiles he'd chopped all through his childhood.

Then, he heard the distant cry of 'timber'. One of the giant Ponderosa pines ahead began to lean and topple. He listened to the sounds it made as it crashed through the stand and hit the ground. The cutting continued.

Curious, Adam spurred his horse toward the gathering of woodsman. He felt in two minds about the logging. It was a shame to tear down such magnificent trees, but on the other hand, they would build such fine structures.

He saw the crew of about a dozen men before they noticed him. They looked tired. Several trees lay on the ground ready to take away. Looked like they could do with a few more hands.

Adam's interest shifted to the largest man of the group. Taller and wider than himself, he looked like a peeled grizzly. A man to be reckoned with, he seemed in charge. He gave orders to the others, which they took without question.

As Adam contemplated leaving the group undisturbed, the big man glanced up and saw him.

"Can I help you?" he called out in a cautious tone.

"I was just takin' a ride round the lake. Heard your loggin'." Adam dismounted and walked his horse over to the clearing.

"It's a mite dangerous around here at the moment, mister. I'd mind riding too close."

"I can see that," smiled Adam. "Hard job you got."

"Yep."

The big man smiled at him, and Adam felt at ease. It was a rare occasion that he trusted someone instantly. Somehow, this man gave him that feeling.

"How many trees you felling?"

"Near to one hundred."

Adam whistled and looked around. No more than a dozen trunks lay on the ground around them. "Big job."

"You're not wrong about that. Hoss Cartwright."

Adam looked down and saw the man's hand extended for him to shake. Cartwright? He had to be from the same family, didn't he? But he didn't in any way resemble Joe.

"Adam Diamond," he said in response, taking Cartwright's hand with a firm, palm up grip.

"You sound like you're from the south."

"Yeah, Georgia way." That's more than he told most men after knowing them for months.

"Never bin there. Do you miss it?"

"Haven't been home in long while. It's not as handsome as this country," replied Adam. Why did he feel so relaxed around this man?

"Handsome, yes. But it can get real cold come winter. Say, you wouldn't be needin' a job for a few days, would ya?"

Adam half smiled and narrowed his lids. "Let me guess, you've got a few trees to cut?"

The big man smiled and almost looked bashful. How refreshing to meet someone of his size who wasn't intimidating or mean spirited.

"I could sure use a couple more men. The pay's not much, but we've got good food, clean air and plenty of sunshine."

Adam looked around. A few days of hard physical work sounded tempting. Bounty hunting wasn't exactly keeping him fit. He'd put on a few pounds over the last months. Duke and his gang wouldn't go anywhere for the moment. He looked at the man called Hoss Cartwright. His impossibly blue eyes - a reflection of the sky above - and his hopeful expression made Adam consider the offer.

"You look like you could handle it," added Hoss in further invitation.

"All right," Adam heard himself say. "But I'm not sure I can compete with you."

"Just do the best you can. This ain't no competition." Hoss slapped him on the back and laughed heartily.

Why do I feel as if I could trust this man with my life after such a short time?

"In that case, get me a sharp axe," said Adam, turning to unsaddle his horse.

Joe finally rode up to the logging camp three days late. He hadn't gone with Carl to meet Duke's gang, but the temptation was still there. He'd caught up on chores around the house and gone into town again to play poker. He'd lost his winnings from earlier in the week.

He liked spending time with Hoss, but the big man had so much to do Joe felt uneasy about wasting his time playing. Hoss didn't complain and liked giving his time to his younger brother, but Joe felt guilty when Hoss worked late into the night to catch up.

Now he'd let him down again by not helping out with the logging. He'd try hard to make up for his poor showing. As he approached the camp, he was surprised at how far along the job was. A small team worked on cutting, another group was cutting logs to size and a third were dragging out the lumber.

It seemed so efficient. Much more so than past attempts to log a stand. Joe noticed Hoss on one end of a two-man saw. He put his back into cutting the wood. His partner on the saw was a man Joe didn't recognize at first. Also a large man, he worked the saw with economy of movement. After a few minutes, they moved back, and Hoss yelled timber.

Joe watched the mighty Ponderosa fall then turned his gaze back to the stranger who'd now straightened up and faced toward Joe.

The bounty hunter!

Joe pulled his mount to a dead stop. What was that man doing here? Perhaps he was trying to find out information on the gang. Maybe he was up to no good. Hoss and the others could be in danger.

"Hoss," he called from where he still sat his horse.

"Well, if it ain't my baby brother. Bit late ain't ya?" Hoss smiled despite his remark.

"I need to speak to you," replied Joe while sliding his gaze over the man standing behind Hoss. The stranger didn't seem at all shaken by Joe's arrival. He stood and stretched his back, giving Joe no more than a casual look.

"Come on over to the chuck wagon," said Hoss as he approached Joe's pinto. "I'm powerful thirsty after that tree."

Joe dismounted and waited until the bounty hunter was out of earshot. "Hoss, who's that fella you've got working with you?"

"You mean Adam?" Hoss turned and glanced at his newest worker who'd already started to clear small branches from the fallen pine. "He rode through a few days ago. I offered him a job, and by golly, he's one of the best I've seen on an axe. He's also got a good head on his shoulders. Helped me reorganize the site and work out a quicker way to get the timber out on time."

Joe was surprised by Hoss's information but then again, the bounty hunter probably had all sorts of strings to his bow. He could move among normal men and killers alike.

"There's something you should know about him, Hoss. I met him in the Saloon last Friday night. He's a killer, a bounty hunter."

"Huh?" Hoss took a large swig of water from the barrel on the back of the chuck wagon.

"That's right," said Joe with a deadly serious stare. "He threatened to kill me and Carl. He's looking for a gang that's hiding out in this area. He's dangerous. You'd better get rid of him right quick."

"Now hold up, Joe." A frown formed on Hoss's brow. "I don't know what side you saw of him. Fact is, I need men like him up here, and since he's been here, he's done more than his fair share of work. You sure you don't have him mixed up with anybody else? You don't always see so straight when you're drunk."

"I wasn't drunk!" Joe's quick temper flared. "He's a killer!"

"Okay, well why don't I go ask him then." Hoss slapped the ladle back into the water barrel and turned to walk to the fallen tree.

"Hoss, you can't just ask him straight out. He'll lie through his teeth."

"We'll see."

Hoss continued on and Joe followed. He hoped his big brother wasn't going to get shot.

"Say, Adam," called Hoss when they reached the clearing.

"Yeah?"

Joe watched as the man called Adam straightened up, carefully laid his axe down flat and walked up to Hoss. He had his shirt off and Joe noticed how muscled his upper body was. Not quite as tall as Hoss, he would still be a force to be reckoned with even without a gun.

"This here's my brother, Joe." Hoss stepped to the side and Joe found himself looking into the man's cool gaze.

"I know, we've met," Adam said simply. "Nice to see you again, kid. I hope you've quit hanging around with Regan."

"It's my business who I spend time with," Joe replied sharply. He didn't like anyone telling him what to do especially this man.

"Joe here says you're a bounty hunter," said Hoss getting right to the heart of the matter. Joe relaxed inwardly. Now Adam would try and cover.

"That's right," Adam replied, shocking Joe even further. "I'm officially looking for Duke Brogan's gang, but I had a few days spare waiting for information. That's why I accepted this job."

"Did you threaten to kill Joe?"

Joe watched, as both big men looked each other in the eye.

"I said he'd be killed if he got any further involved with Carl Regan who's mixed up with Duke's gang. They're wanted for murder, robberies and a dozen other serious crimes. I warned him to stay at home. If there's gun play and he gets caught in the middle, I can't be held responsible."

Hoss looked thoughtful and nodded. "I never did much like that Carl Regan. Too easily led and looking for a quick buck."

"I intend to finish up here sundown tomorrow, Friday, as I told you, Hoss. Then, I'll keep pursuing Duke."

"Yeah, I reckon you'll do just that." Hoss turned to Joe. "How about you start helpin' out around here. There's plenty to do."

"What?" Joe wanted Hoss to get rid of Adam. He still didn't trust him even though he'd been straight with his answers. "Aren't you gonna tell him to leave?" Joe pointed his finger at the bounty hunter.

"Why? He's doing a good job, and I trust him. Now how about you pick up that axe and start clearing branches so Rory can get the team and drag this trunk out?"

Joe felt like exploding, but he held his tongue. He didn't want Hoss or any of the other men put in danger. He silently picked up the axe and went about the task, wondering all the time what Adam was really up to. He had to have a reason to be hiding out here. He wouldn't just 'help out' as he'd implied. He'd keep a real close eye on him.

Adam watched the two brothers as they sat around the campfire that night. They looked nothing alike. In fact, if Adam had needed to stake his life on them not being related, he'd have lost. And he prided himself on knowing people pretty well.

He'd never met a man as genuine as Hoss Cartwright. He'd been naturally suspicious the first day or two but now he was convinced the big man was every bit as honest and straight up as he appeared. This rattled Adam's faith in men being basically bad.

Joe too wasn't a bad kid. He was young, impressionable, but he obviously idolized his brother and tried to live up to his standards. It wouldn't be an easy thing to do, and Adam knew Joe was struggling with the weight of responsibility.

Adam turned to his saddlebags and unhooked the guitar he carried with him everywhere. He'd taken to playing it many years ago when he first left home. It kept his fingers nimble for shooting, and it soothed him. The instrument felt like a personal friend.

"Hey Adam, play that song you sung last night. About the pine trees," called Hoss. Everyone backed Hoss's suggestion with a series of cheers.

Adam glanced at Joe who held his stony silence. The boy brooded well, just as he had done for many years before becoming a man.

"All right." Adam strummed the instrument and began to sing. His deep voice resonated throughout the trees and wrapped itself around the listeners like a smooth, warm whiskey. Adam lost himself in the song and didn't glance up again until the end. Most of the men cheered and clapped, but he noticed Joe's hostile look had changed to one of puzzlement.

Adam chuckled to himself. The boy didn't know which way to take him and that was good. He didn't want Joe to pursue Carl and his new friends. Adam needed to ensure Joe kept a healthy respect for the danger Adam represented.

"How about Sweet Betsy from Pike?" called one of the loggers.

"Yeah," said Hoss.

"Okay, but you've all got to join in. And Hoss, try to stay on key this time," he said dryly. Everyone including Hoss laughed.

Adam started to sing and felt the irony of the situation pressing down on him. Adam Diamond: bounty hunter, cold-hearted killer, and loner - sharing songs, laughing and forming friendships almost against his will.

Darn that name, Cartwright, luring him into this situation. The sooner he left the sooner he'd get back to the reality of his life.

"Timber!"

Another giant pine fell, and Adam watched from the edge of the stand. They'd progressed, and he was happy with the contribution he'd made to the team. His muscles were sore, but he felt fit again. He'd needed to bend his back and give his mind a rest for a few days.

He glanced over to where Joe Cartwright worked, cutting away branches. He'd kept out of Adam's way, but he had a feeling the kid was warming to him. That probably wasn't good, but perhaps he'd be able to convince him to stay clear of trouble in the future for Hoss's sake.

"Adam! Come quick. It's Hoss!" Adam swiveled around to see Rory running toward him. He came from the lower slope.

"What's wrong?" Adam carefully lay his axe flat and joined the man.

"Someone left an axe standing up. Hoss walked backwards to get out of the way of the team, and he's cut his leg on the blade."

Adam grabbed bandages and a dry powder from the chuck wagon. He called to Rory to get some water and ran down to where Hoss lay in the grass.

"How bad?" Adam asked as he bent down beside the big man.

"Oh, I done a good job of it." Hoss's voice remained calm, but the beads of sweat on his face betrayed the pain.

Adam pulled his trouser leg away and wiped the pools of blood so he could see how deep the cut was.

"You sure did do a good job." Adam wrapped a piece of cloth around his hand and held it firmly against the wound. The pressure would hopefully slow the bleeding.

"I'll have to try out my sewing skills on ya. Are ya game?" Adam asked, keeping his tone amused.

"Well, you're pretty darn good at most things, so I guess I'll let ya stitch me up."

"Joe," Adam said, as he knew the youth was standing behind him. "Get the needles and silk thread from the wagon."

"You sure you know what you're doing?" blurted Joe.

"Yeah, I know."

Joe must have decided Adam told the truth. He turned and ran for the supplies.

"You sure you don't want an honest job? We could use a few like you permanent," said Hoss while gritting his teeth.

"It's temptin'," said Adam carefully. "But what would I tell my gals if I didn't call on them ever again."

"You could write 'em. Say, how many you got anyhow?"

Adam chuckled. "I don't rightly know, Hoss. Best I not count them. Might scare myself and agree to stay put."

Hoss gave a weak smile then passed out. The smile disappeared from Adam's face. "Joe, hurry with that stuff!" he called while putting pressure on the wound. He'd seen plenty of people die from lesser injuries. Joe slid along side him.

"Is he . . ." Joe turned white as he looked at his still brother.

"He's losing blood. Here, hold this hard to the wound while I prepare to stitch it up," barked Adam as he took the supplies from Joe's shaking hand.

"He'll be all right, won't he?"

"He's strong. Don't talk now; let me work." Once the bleeding slowed, Adam propped Hoss's leg up with a piece of wood and started to sew the skin. He carefully punctured the skin either side and worked in a crisscross pattern. When it was done, Adam wiped his forehead and nodded.

"The bleeding has stopped," said Joe with wide eyes.

"Yeah, for now. Let him lie quietly for a while. Sponge down his face, hands and wound with cool water. Sit with him. I'll go check on the men."

"He should go home. My Pa'll want to take care of him," said Joe in a challenging tone.

Adam stood and stretched his back. He walked over to the water barrel and took out the ladle. As he washed he spoke slowly. "Yeah, we'll take him home but not until I'm sure the bleeding is completely stopped. All that joltin' in the buckboard won't be good for him."

"So when did you learn so much about doctorin' anyway?"

Adam looked at the boy's pale face. He was still wary of Adam even now. And with good reason. "Around."

Adam wiped his cleaned hands on his blue bandanna.

"I still don't trust you," Joe said harshly. "If anything happens to Carl-"

"-If anything happens to Carl, then you'd better blame Carl. He's been fairly warned, as have you. That gang he's running with are outlaws. They've robbed and killed. I think you're smarter than to associate with that kind."

"You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father or my brother."

Adam approached Joe and stared him down. "You're right, I'm not. I'm a whole lot worse. Now tend to your brother. He needs you more than Carl does right now."

Joe looked down at Hoss. Adam could see the guilt in his eyes as he bent to put a cool cloth on the big man's forehead. Better he be reminded of where his loyalty should lie. If Adam had had brothers worth a dime, he'd have protected them. But that hadn't happened.

Adam grimaced at the memories raised by thinking of his upbringing. He turned and walked back to the workers. Was he still running from those difficult days?

Later that afternoon, Adam rode in the back of the buckboard as Joe negotiated it down the mountainside. Hoss's leg remained dry, and he ensured it stayed elevated. Adam had learned that this seemed to stem the blood flow from a wound.

"How far to your ranch house?" he asked Joe when they'd been traveling for quite a while.

"Only another five miles or so. It'll soon be flat country. How's he doing?" Joe turned and peered over the back of the seat.

"He's okay, but I'll like to get him settled somewhere warm before sundown."

"We'll be there in plenty of time," replied Joe.

"Pretty country. You always lived here?"

"I was born here. Hoss wasn't, though. He was born on the journey west. Pa came out with a wagon train."

"Did he come from the south?" Adam felt a slight tingling sensation down the back of his neck. After all this time, could this family of Cartwrights mean anything to him?

"No, he came from Boston."

Adam nodded silently. Couldn't have anything to do with him. People from Boston went over the Oregon Trail route, not via the south.

"Where do you come from? I mean, I can tell you're from the south somewhere."

"Georgia," Adam said before he could stop himself. He ordinarily gave as few facts about his life as possible.

"My mother came from New Orleans. Not too far away from Georgia."

"Really?"

Adam wanted to ask more questions but he could see a ranch house looming in the distance. At that precise moment, Hoss moaned and asked for water. As he dribbled a small portion of water from his canteen into Hoss's mouth, Adam wondered about Joe's mother.

How could his father have met her living in the west? Perhaps she'd been a mail order bride? He presumed Joe's mother was no longer alive by his choice of words. Hoss groaned again, and Adam forced his attention to his patient.

"Not long to go. I can see Hop Sing, our cook. He'll help us get Hoss inside."

The buckboard finally rolled up alongside a rambling log house. Adam cast a critical eye over the structure and found it met with his approval. He would have made it bigger and grander to go with the dramatic mountain scenery. Perhaps add a second story?

"Hop Sing, where's Pa?" Adam heard Joe shout anxiously.

"Mr Cartlight go Virginia City. He back soon."

"Hoss's hurt. Help us get him inside."

Adam watched as the small Chinese man hurried over, concern written all over his face. He understood the haste. Hoss had many friends.

"Who this?" Hop Sing asked with a touch of suspicion in his voice as the three men helped Hoss inside.

"Adam Diamond. He's been working at the logging camp. He stitched and bandaged Hoss's leg and helped me bring him down the mountain."

Adam nodded to Hop Sing but didn't offer anything further. He knew the Chinese man could assess him without him even opening his mouth. By the stern look, Adam figured Hop Sing wasn't sure if he was friend or foe.

The three of them moved Hoss into a bedroom off the main parlor. At that moment, Adam felt grateful they didn't have an upstairs. Hoss weighed more than any man he'd moved before.

"I get water and new bandage," declared Hop Sing as they settled Hoss onto the bed.

"He looks real pale," murmured Joe.

"He will for a few days," replied Adam. "He's lost a lot of blood, but I think we got to him quick enough."

"The doctor should be here soon, unless he was out of town."

"I wouldn't worry too much, kid," Adam replied. "Hoss's strong. I've seen men hurt much worse than him pull through."

Adam wondered at his own words. He wanted to see Hoss come through all right. He was the first man in a long time that Adam could easily pass the time of day with, a man who was truly good and moral. Adam had long ago decided no such men lived anymore.

He wasn't sure how long the two of them stayed in the room before they heard hoof beats outside the window.

"Pa!" Joe swiveled around and darted from the room. Adam took a moment to gather his thoughts and look at his surroundings. The house was comfortable, lived in. The Cartwrights had a nice ranch and standard of living.

Adam wondered if one day he'd settle down on a ranch and raise a family. Maybe, when he got rid of all the skeletons lurking ready to remind him how lousy family life could be.

"It's the doctor, not Pa."

Adam turned to see a middle aged gentleman enter the room behind Joe. The doctor nodded to Adam as he went past; his assessing eyes somehow making Adam feel inadequate.

They watched as the doctor unwound Hoss's bandage and examined the wound and stitching. He bathed the wound in a brownish solution, checked Hoss's pulse and heartbeat, then redressed the wound. Lastly, he gave Hoss something to help him sleep.

"Well, Doc?" asked Joe, anxious for a verdict.

"You boys did an excellent job on the wound. Did you stitch it, sir?" he asked Adam.

"Yeah. He'll be okay then?"

"Thanks to you, yes. Where did you learn the stitching technique?"

"Around."

"He's a bounty hunter, Doc. Seems he needs to know such things," said Joe, not unkindly, but more to try and draw a bite from Adam.

"Interesting," said the doctor. He gave Adam a thoughtful stare. "Well, you've saved a good man. I'm sure Mr Cartwright will be grateful to you."

"Thank you," Adam said, genuinely pleased that Hoss would be okay.

"I've got to keep going. There's a baby due in town tonight. Just change that bandage twice a day and bathe the wound in this solution. I'll come on Sunday and check him again."

Adam waited with Hoss while Joe saw the doctor out. The following day he had to get back to the job he'd come to the Sierras to complete. He hoped Joe Cartwright would come to his senses and stay put here with his brother.

"It's dark out now," said Joe from the doorway. "Pa should be in soon, and I'm sure he'll want to thank you for all you did for Hoss. Won't you stay the night? There's plenty of room in the bunkhouse."

"I thought you didn't like me hangin' around," said Adam.

"Well, I appreciate what you did for Hoss. Sometimes I'm wrong about people . . .I'm sorry. I misjudged you."

Adam narrowed his eyes and looked thoughtfully at the kid. Just young and a bit wild perhaps. Seemed to have some sense after all.

"Just remember, Joe, there are men out there who have no moral fiber like your brother there." Adam spoke softly, compellingly. "You'd do well to follow him, not them. Understand what I mean?"

Joe looked at him for a long moment, his eyes betraying deep thought. "I think I know. It's strange, that's the kind of thing my Pa says to me."

"He's right."

"Please stay. There's plenty of room as I said."

Adam knew he should move on. He'd already spent too much time around this family. There was no good could come of it. Except perhaps persuading a young man to choose the path of good, not evil. And he was curious to meet Hoss and Joe's father. The ride to town would be long, dark and cold.

"All right, I'll stay 'till morning."

"Good. Follow me," said Joe.

They walked back out into the yard and across to the bunkhouse and tack room. It was neatly kept but deserted. Adam stowed his possessions at the foot of the bunk he chose. The men employed by the Cartwrights were either out tending to the cattle or at the logging camp.

Joe left him to get settled. Adam tested the bed and lay down. The temptation to stretch his long body out on a soft surface overwhelmed him. He felt the soreness in his muscles. It had been a long time since he had done such heavy work. He closed his eyes and dozed a while.

"Pa, Pa!"

"Little Joe? What's wrong?"

"It's Hoss; he was hurt this afternoon, but he's going to be alright!"

"Hoss!"

Adam, awakened by the exchange, listened to the Cartwrights and then to the footfalls as both men hurried back inside the ranch house.

Joe's father's voice was deep, resonate, comforting, a man who seemed to care for his sons. A man who'd never abandon one and leave him for the buzzards like Adam's father had left him.

He tossed on the bunk and tried to calm his memories again. They had no place in his life anymore. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

"Mr Diamond?"

Adam sat up in bed. Had he slept or had only a minute passed?

"Mr Diamond, are you still awake?"

Adam listened to the deep baritone. The man spoke softly but still had an instant response to his words.

"Yes, just a moment."

Adam straightened his clothes and picked up his handgun as second nature. He frowned then placed it back on the bed. He didn't need it here. A moment later he stepped out into the dark yard. A large man with silver hair, just a bit shorter than himself, stood waiting for him.

"Mr Diamond? I'm Ben Cartwright. I'm glad to make your acquaintance."

Adam moved forward and held out his hand. It was hard to make out the older man's features.

"Pleased to meet you," said Adam as they shook hands. A firm, solid shake, thought Adam. He liked that.

"Joe told me what you did for Hoss. I'm very grateful."

"I was glad to help. Hoss is a good man."

"Yes, yes he is. He's a fine man and a good son. Please, Mr Diamond, won't you have supper with us? There's plenty, seeing as Hoss can't eat with us tonight."

Adam knew he should refuse, but that strange tingle at his nape caught him out again. "If I'm not putting you out."

"No, no. Not at all, Mr Diamond."

"Please, call me Adam."

The older man seemed to falter a bit before continuing.

"Very well . . .Adam."

"This is a nice ranch you have."

"Thank you."

Adam followed Mr Cartwright into the house. This time he smelled the delicious aroma of roasting meat as he entered the parlor.

"Would you like a drink, Adam?"

"Yes, thank you."

Adam watched as his host picked up a crystal decanter and filled two small glasses with whiskey. As Mr Cartwright turned and faced him, Adam frowned. Something about the man's eyes triggered a memory hidden deep inside him. But what?

The older man stared back at Adam, his frown a reflection of Adam's confusion. Mr Cartwright stared at his face for the longest time. What did he see or not see?

"Forgive me for asking, but have we met before," asked Mr Cartwright.

"I don't think so." Adam wasn't entirely sure. Something about this man seemed very familiar, hauntingly so. But he couldn't place where he might have met him.

"Strange," said the older man. "You seem familiar to me."

"Me also," replied Adam accepting the glass offered to him.

"You haven't worked in this area before?"

"No." Adam felt uncomfortable with the subject. "I'm glad Hoss will be all right. He's a good man."

"Yes, yes," said Ben Cartwright absently. He still studied Adam with an intensity that disturbed him.

"I'm a bounty hunter by trade. I don't know if you're aware that Joe's hangin' around with some bad types down at the saloon. I think it's in your best interest to keep him at home for the next few days."

"Keeping Joe home isn't a task taken lightly, Mr Diamond. That boy has a mind of his own."

Adam noted that Mr Cartwright had reverted to calling him mister again. "Even so, I'm sure you wouldn't want to be burying him," said Adam as gravely as he could. He needed to get across how serious this could all turn out to be.

He watched as the older man's eyes clouded over. He looked as though he'd withdrawn. Then he spoke with a defeated, softer tone.

"I don't want to bury another son. You're right. I should insist he stays." The shadows on Cartwright's face vanished as quickly as they had appeared. "Come, Mr Diamond and take a seat."

Adam wanted to ask about his other son, the one he'd buried, but it wasn't really polite dinner conversation, nor something a man would usually tell a complete stranger so he let it slip.

He walked over to the dining table.

"Please, call me Adam."

"If you prefer . . .Adam."

"You don't care for my name?" Adam questioned.

"It's not that, forgive me," replied Ben. "You see, my first born son was named Adam. He died when he was very young. I guess it just makes me think of him."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Oh, it was a long time ago. Before Hoss was even born."

The mystery revealed, it surprised Adam that he still seemed so affected by that event. He studied Mr Cartwright while the dinner was being served. He seemed every bit as upstanding and good as Hoss was. And the way he spoke of his sons left no doubt in Adam's mind that he was a kind, loving man. If only his own parents had been so fond of him, things might have turned out very differently.

At that moment Joe came from the hallway. "Hoss is sleeping. Got a bit more color in his face."

"That's good news," said Adam.

"You all eat dinner now," said the little Chinese cook as he produced roast meat and vegetables.

"Thanks, Hop Sing."

"Plenty as Mr Hoss can't eat. Mr Adam, you got good appetite?"

"Sure I do, especially for a fine meal like this," Adam replied, earning a broad smile from the cook.

Conversation halted as they filled their plates. After Ben said grace, Adam picked up his knife and fork and began to eat, declaring the beef the most tender he'd had for a long spell.

The diners remained quiet. Adam glanced over at Joe. He was grazing his way through a huge plate of food as most seventeen-year-olds would.

Then, on his next mouthful he looked to the opposite end of the table where Ben Cartwright sat. To his surprise, Ben sat staring at him, a look of shock etched on his face.

"Somethin' wrong, sir?"

"You use your knife and fork at the same time," said Ben absently.

Adam looked down at his hands. He'd always eaten that way. Unusual, he knew, but he preferred it.

"Don't know where I picked it up," said Adam slightly amused at his host's reaction. He knew most Americans cut their meat then laid their knifes down while eating.

"It's the way the English eat," said Ben, still white faced.

"I imagine my mother must have shown me." Adam frowned as he chewed his next mouthful. Come to think of it, his mother had eaten with just her fork like everyone else in his family. Actually, the rest of them barely even used utensils at all. His brothers used to tease him about the habit, but he'd kept doing it. He looked over at Ben again and noted he'd stopped eating and seemed lost in a memory.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Oh . . .yes, fine." His host began to eat again, slower than before.

Adam wondered why Ben Cartwright seemed so affected by such an insignificant thing.

"Mr Diamond," interrupted Joe, "I want you to know I don't figure on going anywhere with that Duke feller. I'll be staying here lookin' after Hoss."

"That's good, Joe. Glad to hear it." Adam relaxed a bit. Now that he knew this family better, he didn't want to be the one responsible for arresting or maybe even killing the youngest member.

"Mr Diamond . . .Adam . . ."corrected Ben, "might I ask where you grew up?"

"I was raised on a small farm in Southern Georgia." His host still looked very shaken.

"Who raised you?"

An odd question. "My Ma and Pa. I had four brothers and two sisters. I can tell you, it was a hard life. Not a lot of fine grazing land there like you have here."

"I'm sure."

Mr Cartwright half smiled and seemed to relax, but he didn't eat much more of his meal. Adam didn't have the same problem, however, and devoured his along with a generous helping of apple pie for desert.

"Long time since I had such a good meal," he declared, as a grinning Hop Sing cleared away the dishes. Joe sprang up and announced he was going to sit with Hoss. That left him with just his host.

Adam watched the older man with interest. He seemed a very capable, intelligent man, but a dark cloud hung over him. He'd mentioned his first born son earlier. Could he still be grieving for something that had happened so long ago?

It made Adam think of his own father. Thaddeus Diamond, a cruel, cold man. He felt sure that if he'd dropped dead from exhaustion in the field while plowing and planting, his father would have simply told his brothers to step over him and keep working. That's the type of man he'd been.

"Will you join me in a brandy, Mr Diamond?"

"Yes, why not."

They moved to the comfortable chairs arranged around the fireplace. Adam pulled a cigar from his pocket and watched as his host poured drinks then lit his pipe with a well-worn routine.

A prickly sensation ran along Adam's neck as he watched. Something about the deliberate actions of Cartwright triggered a strange feeling. He frowned and turned his gaze to the fire.

"Something on your mind?" asked a deep, concerned voice after many minutes of silence.

There it was again, only stronger. Adam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His cigar had gone out. He looked back at his host. He wasn't sure why he wanted to know. He just did.

"Tell me how you lost your son."

Ben Cartwright's head went down and his expression changed to one of pain. "It was . . .such a long time ago. I . . .can hardly remember."

"I think you remember exactly."

Ben looked up and nodded gravely. "You read me well."

"Tell me what happened." Adam kept a steady gaze on his host. He seemed to respond to him and settled back in his chair and began to talk.

"We were traveling west. I'd always wanted to settle here. My first wife and I planned to make the journey, only I lost her in child birth."

"Your first son?"

"Yes. I decided to follow my dream anyway. She would've wanted that." The older man drew deeply on his pipe and fixed his gaze on the fire, seemingly reading the past in its flames. "In hindsight I should've waited. Taking a small child on such a trip was a poor decision. Not that Adam complained," he hastened to add. "But he grew up so quickly. At four years old he was acting like a child twice his age. He had a good head on his shoulders, yes sir." Ben's mouth twitched in a prideful smile.

"Sounds like a bright young lad."

"He was. Already knew how to read some."

The room grew quiet, and Adam waited for the story to continue. He didn't want to push.

"One day we had to cross the Mississippi. The river was swollen, and many didn't want to attempt it, but unless we crossed without delay, we wouldn't make it far enough west before the onset of winter. The wagon master decided to ford the river."

"Did you want to cross?"

"Yes. I confess I didn't appreciate the danger. I'd been a first mate at sea. A river didn't seem too hard a challenge." He hung his head. "But it was."

"That big ol' river'll swallow you up if you're not careful," added Adam softly. He'd lived only twenty miles from the great Mississippi as a boy, but much further south than where Cartwright would have crossed.

"We were floating the wagons across in a staggered fashion. The river was running fast and pushing us hard sideways. I told Adam to get into the body of the wagon . . .for safety. He did as he was told, but then the wagon began to sink on one side. The wax mixture the wagon master had suggested we use to waterproof wasn't doing the job. We started to sink along with some of the others behind me."

"I called to Adam to come up beside me, and he started to climb up."

Adam watched Ben Cartwright's dark brown eyes cloud over. His voice cracked as he spoke, reminding Adam of the sound of splintering ice.

"Just then a woman from the wagon in front screamed. Her wagon tipped, and I saw her husband fall. He grabbed onto the side of his wagon, and I tried to move up alongside so I could pull him up before he fell into the water.

"But we got too close. My lead oxen hit the wagon and panicked, causing the other beasts to turn and fight the current head on. My wagon started to toss in the churning water, and for a few minutes, I didn't think of Adam." The guilt in his voice spilled coldly into the room. "I concentrated on the task of getting the oxen facing the right way and onto the opposite bank. When I finally got the animals back around, I turned and . . .Adam was . . .gone."

"You mean . . .he fell?"

"I looked all around, I . . .couldn't believe it at first. I checked behind me to see if he'd gone back undercover. Nothing. Then . . ."

Adam watched the older man's face. It revealed a mixture of pain, self-loathing and disbelief.

"Then, I saw a tiny figure in the water, rushing downstream, his arms waving . . .his black head bobbing . . ."

Adam didn't have any words of comfort for such a thing. Instead, he let the soft crackle of the fire fill the silent void between them.

"My wagon had crossed . . .and the oxen were climbing the bank before I reacted," Ben continued a while later. "I jumped and let the water sweep me downstream. I had no plan at that moment - I just knew I needed to go after him. Being heavier and a good swimmer, I had a chance of catching up."

"Could he swim?"

"Sufficiently to know how to float . . .but the river was . . .angry, as was I."

A sharp crack pierced the air. Adam realized Ben had snapped his pipe in two.

"Did you find him?"

"I got pulled under, tossed around in the rapids. I . . .ended up miles downstream and got thrown into some rocks where I heard some of my ribs crack from the impact. I broke my left leg too but didn't realize it at the time. Instead, I tried to lever myself off the rocks to go further."

Adam tried to imagine an injured, half-drowned man struggling to continue.

"Then I heard voices. The leaders from the train had seen what happened. The jumped on horses and rode alongside the riverbank to help. Some kept going to follow Adam, and a couple came down to the water to help me. I guess I was half out of my mind. I fought them off and tried to refloat myself . . .but I couldn't . . . was too weak.

The men said the others would find Adam, and I had to let them help me out, so I stopped fighting. Lying on the bank looking up at the sky . . .I felt . . .helpless. Alone . . .a failure."

Adam had the feeling this story was a lot easier to tell to a stranger such as he. Had Ben Cartwright ever told his other sons the truth about their dead brother? "Did they find him?"

"I don't know how long I lay there. It seemed late when the rescue party returned. I heard voices, but the doctor traveling with us had given me laudanum. I couldn't make out what had happened. Eventually, I heard the words . . .dead . . .and lost." Ben hung his head and planted it into his large, weather-worn hands. "I knew he was gone. I'd failed him."

There wasn't much to say. No comforting words, no deep sympathetic phrase. Adam finished his cigar and tossed it into the fire.

"When next I awoke, it was day again, the next afternoon by my reckoning. The man in charge - Irwin Jones - told me my boy had been found a long way down stream."

Adam had to lean in close to hear his host's words, now barely above a raspy whisper.

"I told them I wanted to see him, needed to . . .hold him close one more time. I . . .couldn't leave him all alone . . .he needed me. But, it was then that they told me they'd had to . . .bury him. That it was best I hadn't seen him and to remember him the way he'd been. It was then that I knew my life would be forever changed. Something inside me died. A light went out."

"Must've been real hard." Adam tried to put himself in Cartwright's mind. But he couldn't. He'd never known the kind of caring Ben Cartwright spoke of. Nobody had cared enough for him; therefore, he hadn't cared for another in return.

But here, in this warm, solemn room, he sensed a depth of feeling he'd never experienced. Perhaps there were good people in the world, ones who cared, loved and cherished life and family.

"I didn't want to continue until I'd visited his grave. I needed to grieve, to say my goodbyes, but as I slept away the pain, the wagon master loaded me into another wagon and took me away.

"When I finally became lucid we were miles from the river. I wanted to turn back, screamed for it, but nobody would hear of it. Said I'd only be lost and alone. They couldn't afford to wait for me. We were already behind schedule. Again, I felt I failed Adam. I should have gone back, shouldn't have left him by that cruel river."

"The trip west was hard for lots of folks."

"Yeah, I know. There were several children and adults lost in our train over the months. I'm not saying my grief was any worse then those families, but it sure seemed so. There was only the two of us. He was . . .all I had. All I wanted to live for."

Adam noticed a shiny tear trickle down Ben's cheek. His host didn't seem to notice.

"You made it though, and had two more sons."

"I met a wonderful woman a few months later. I guess I was still dead inside. Inger helped me live again. She gave me hope, restored some of my dreams and, of course, gave me Hoss."

"She sounds like a fine lady."

"Yes, she was. She died also before reaching the west."

Adam frowned and sighed, his respect growing for a man who hadn't given up on his dream or life despite facing tragedy. "So you were alone again, with another son."

"But this time I didn't take any chances. I made it, and Hoss and I started a new life."

"And Joe?"

"I met his mother in New Orleans. Several years later I traveled there. By that time the train ran almost all the way. But near the Mississippi I got off and tried to find the spot where . . .I couldn't.

I searched for days. Maybe the marker had been washed away. My little boy was part of the earth and heaven. I . . .had to believe that. Liz and Inger were with him. Maybe I was never meant to find the grave site. But if I had, I think I could have gone on with life in a much stronger fashion."

"You've done well, though."

"Not too badly. Somehow I know if Adam had lived he would've helped me make this place great, not just good. He was a very studious little man. Serious, intelligent."

Adam felt it was time to change the subject and remind Cartwright that he had another son to worry about.

"I'm concerned about Joe as I said earlier. He's running with the lowlifes in town."

"I know," said Ben with a weary sigh. "I think I've always been too easy on him. I felt I was hard on Adam, and I guess I wanted to make it up someway, somehow."

"Even so, I think you should rein him in. I wouldn't like to see you with only one son left."

"And that one son needs me. I've neglected Hoss." Ben, suddenly looking stronger than he had all night, stood up. "Mr Diamond, Adam, I'd be privileged if you slept the night in our spare room. I should have offered much earlier."

"The bunk house is more than fine."

"No, no. I insist. You've been of great service to my son, and a very sympathetic ear. Please accept my hospitality."

"All right then, I won't say no." Adam got up and shook Ben Cartwright's hand. He tried to ignore the prickly feeling that ran down his spine. It got stronger as the night progressed.

"Please join us for breakfast."

"If you like."

"The room's just here." He pointed beyond the parlor. "I'd like to thank you for listening. I know it sounds strange, but it's almost as if I had my Adam back for a brief moment. He would've listened quietly, thoughtfully as you have."

"My pleasure, sir," replied Adam.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll go relieve Joe."

Adam watched Ben go and almost stopped him. Should he reveal his strange notions about the Cartwright name? Perhaps he'd always known he was going to run into someone of that name who'd have an impact on his life? Maybe he and this family had been destined to meet? Was that why the name had always triggered a strange feeling in his gut?

He pondered that question as he walked to the bunkhouse, gathered his things and re-entered the house. He lit a candle and carried it to the offered room. Certainly much more comfortable that the bunk house, the room was neat and cozy. Adam sighed as he sat down on the bed and slid his black boots off.

What if things had been different in his life? If he'd been raised by someone like Ben Cartwright he could've been a much better person. He might not have been so cynical or cold. Perhaps he could've learned to trust, to believe, maybe even love.

Adam shook his head at the foolish notion. These Cartwrights were turning him soft. He'd better get his mind back to business. The very next day he had to face up to capturing or killing Duke Brogan. He needed to shake off these weak feelings well before then.

He removed his shirt and trousers, washed his warm skin with water provided in a china pitcher and then stretched back on the bed and willed sleep to overtake him.

After sitting with a recovering Hoss, Ben sat at his desk hours later reliving his memories. He'd never told the whole story out loud before. Roy knew parts of it as had Inger and Marie. But he'd never told Hoss and Joe much at all. They only knew they'd had an older brother who'd died young.

Ben glanced down at his desk. He had a likeness of Elizabeth in a frame. Her dark hair and expressive eyes shined up at him. Beside the picture was her music box, her pride and joy.

He'd passed it on to Adam and the little boy had been enchanted by it. He used to play it over and over and had gone to sleep to the simple little tune. Ben remembered his thick dark lashes growing heavy, dropping to the slowing rhythm of the music box.

He picked up the piece and turned it over. Winding the small key until it resisted, Ben righted it again and lifted the lid. The pleasant little tune tinkled into the night, flooding Ben's mind with fresh memories - some bad but most good. He sighed and sank back into his chair.

Mr Diamond had rattled him at first. His coloring so like his own, Adam's name, the way he ate with his knife and fork, a thing his son had picked up from an English peddler when he'd been learning to eat at table. Ben had been almost ready to believe in ghosts.

But of course his imagination had to be at work. All these memories churning in his mind were making fools of his eyes and good sense. Mr Diamond's visit had proved important just in making him remember, forcing him to admit his shame, anger and hurt about something so long ago. Perhaps now he'd be able to forgive himself.

Ben's eyes grew weary to the slowing music just as his son's had years ago. He sighed and started to close the lid. In some ways he felt he was closing a long, dark chapter of his life. Could he put little Adam's soul to rest at last?

Just as the lid shut, Ben heard frantic footsteps on the wooden floor. He looked up to see Mr Diamond run into the room, his shirt unbuttoned as if just thrown on, and his hair disheveled. He looked frantic and . . .maybe even . . .scared?

"Mr Diamond? What is it?"

"That music," he rasped in a deep, disturbed tone, "what was that?"

"I'm sorry if I awoke you. It was this music box. I hadn't played it in a long time. It belonged to my first wife, and then to my son."

Ben watched as Adam stepped slowly across the room. He moved smoothly, cautiously, like a cougar on the hunt. His eyes, wide-eyed, reminded Ben of something, someone.

"What's the matter?" Ben stood and looked at his guest face to face. You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"I think I have. As have you."

"What?"

"I mean . . .you're my ghost."

"Mr Diamond-"

"-Adam. Call me Adam. Your ghost."

Ben frowned and felt his pulse pick up. "I don't understand."

"I don't yet, either, but as of a minute ago when I heard that music it triggered a floodgate inside my head." Adam moved back from him as if repelled by a dark force.

"I think I'm your son."

Ben's chest went tight. Why was this man teasing him in such a cruel way? He'd made a big mistake trusting a stranger with his innermost secrets.

"What are you talking about?" Ben stepped back. "How dare you say such a thing to me."

"No . . .no! You don't understand. Neither do I . . .I've never known these things before now. My head . . ."

Ben watched as the man before him looked down and shut his eyes tight. His hand rushed to his face, long fingers spread over his eyes as if to concentrate and make sense of jumbled thoughts.

Another thing little Adam used to do. Just a small thing whenever he was trying to remember his lessons and became frustrated. It had been such a serious gesture from a little boy. No . . .it couldn't be.

"Mr Diamond, I don't appreciate you coming into my house and talking such foolishness."

"It's not foolishness."

Ben moved back and held the edge of his desk as a pained, familiar pair of eyes emerged from the man before him. Diamond's expression: pleading hazel eyes, stubborn mouth and flaring nostrils on his softly rounded nose. The face of a stranger?

No.

It belonged to a man who'd once been a boy. His boy. His first born, cherished son.

His Adam. But how?

Ben slumped into his chair. His hand, now shaking, moved to cover his mouth. He couldn't speak. This wasn't happening. The thought that his boy had survived and gotten left behind seemed almost worse to Ben than his death.

"I've always had these strange feelings," began Adam, "about the name Cartwright. I always thought it must've been something to do with someone my parents had known when I was small. Fact is, I didn't remember much before I was five or six. Never tried to."

"But . . .now?"

"There's a buzzing in my head. Pictures, sounds, faces." He looked at Ben and sat opposite. "I'll tell you what I see."

"Y . . .yes."

"Endless bouncing in a wagon, Sounds of laughter around a camp fire, water rushing through my ears."

"The river?"

"Don't know. It's hard to explain . . .I think maybe someone found me. I was ill, very ill. Listened to talk, people arguing . . .my parents! Or the people who took me in."

Ben felt sick as he watched Adam's face change from one of deep thought to realization.

"That's why he never . . .my father, or who I thought was my father . . .why he never wanted me. Treated me like an outcast. I was."

Ben shut his eyes tight. How could he believe this? It had to be a mistake. He didn't leave Adam there to be found by some cruel man. Did he?

How could he prove this man wasn't his grown son? There had to be something. Adam didn't have a birth mark. Eye and hair color could be a co-incidence. Anyone could have found out this information if they'd really wanted to get something from Ben.

The scar! Of course. When Adam was three, he'd fallen over on the trail and badly cut his top lip. This man didn't have such a scar. Or did he?

Ben opened his eyes and squinted in the poor light. This Adam had thick, dark stubble adorning his face.

"I want you to shave."

"What?"

"As I said. I want you to shave. My boy had a scar on his lip. I won't believe anything until I see if you have one."

Ben watched as Adam Diamond nodded with a measure of finality. Almost as if he knew the outcome of Ben's request. Surely this wasn't real. This couldn't be Adam.

But Ben somehow found the courage to follow Diamond into the guest room. He sat on the bed as the tall, dark bounty hunter prepared his razor and started shaving away the dark hair around his mouth.

A few moments later he wiped his smooth skin and turned to Ben. Stepping into the light of the lamp, he leaned down so Ben could see him clearly. A small, thin scar ran lip to nose. Ben couldn't talk. His hands shook and his legs weakened as he got up and staggered to the younger man.

"Adam, my son, forgive me," he said as he collapsed into the younger man's arms.

Adam didn't know what to say next as the older man embraced him and began to weep. The notion that he was somehow this man's son was so fantastic he could hardly believe the fractured memories surging through his head.

Could it be true that the name Cartwright had meant more than just a curiosity picked up by a child's mind? A vision of him walking beside a wooden wagon and smiling up at his father - this man - popped up. Why hadn't he recalled this sooner? Surely he couldn't have forgotten everything until this very moment?

Perhaps he'd almost died in the river and it had affected his memory? He'd heard of that before, of people forgetting who they were. And now, by meeting his true father, his memory was restored.

"I don't understand why I know these things now," said Adam softly. "I think I was found. I almost died; I'm sure of it. And I don't think I knew who I was or where I'd come from. The woman who raised me as her own - she found me by the river. She . . .took me home . . .fed me and tended me. Adam saw the fuzzy outline of the woman he'd called Ma carrying his waterlogged body through the fields.

"I should've checked," he heard Ben say. "I never should've gone without seeing what had happened for myself."

"It's too late to lay blame now." Adam pulled back from Ben Cartwright, uncomfortable with the older man's instant affection. It might be the way of this family, but Adam hadn't been raised like that after the age of four.

"I want to know everything about you, your life. How you were treated," started Ben.

But Adam went on the defensive. "No, not now. Not tonight. I think we've got enough to think about at least until morning." Adam took another step back and crossed his arms.

"But-"

"No more tonight. I think we should talk more but not now. Please go."

Adam noted the hurt look in the older man's dark brown eyes but couldn't find any sympathy for him. He just didn't have it in him. He'd had far too many years of hard knocks to chance so instantly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Ben turned slowly and left the room still looking dazed.

Adam sat on the bed, his world in turmoil. He'd been the son of Ben Cartwright, a man he'd only just met but admired anyway. A tragic accident had fated a different path for him than growing up with his true family. Why? What had he gained from growing up guided by a cruel man and his scared wife?

Perhaps he'd been destined to become a bounty hunter? If he'd stayed with these Cartwrights, he'd be a rancher now. Was this what he would have wanted?

And what purpose could there be in finding out now who he should have been? He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Hoss and Joe were his brothers! The thought startled him. They were so different from the nasty minded, vindictive brothers of his childhood. The ones who'd treated him no better than dirt until he'd been big enough to defend himself against them.

The ones who had truly been born of Thaddeus Diamond.

Adam sat up again. This meant that he didn't have the blood of Thaddeus flowing through his veins. A tiny voice in the back of his mind had always warned against settling down, taking a wife and raising a family. Why? Because he worried that he'd end up like his father: a cruel, cold man who beat his children and used them as nothing more than slaves.

This revelation meant that he wasn't kin to Diamond at all. He'd been raised hard, but it didn't mean he couldn't change, did it? If he had the blood of the Cartwrights, he could learn to be a better, kinder person, couldn't he?

Adam frowned and settled back. That was a lot to comprehend and perhaps too much to hope for. Did he want to change? He knew bounty hunting. He was good at it. It required no attachments to anyone. Until this very moment, he considered that a good thing.

He needed a steady voice of reason right now. Someone to bounce his idea off of - to get another opinion of what he should do. An old memory surfaced. Adam saw himself laughing and being twirled in his real father's arms while on the trail. A feeling of happiness accompanied the memory, one that felt strange, yet warm and safe.

Adam got up and buttoned his shirt again. He slipped out into the hallway and looked around. Ben had gone to bed at last. Good. He needed more time before he faced him again. He padded silently down to Hoss's room and pushed the door open. Joe lay slumped in an armchair, and Hoss snored lightly.

"Joe," Adam whispered and shook his arm.

"Huh, what?" Joe said sleepily.

"I'll watch him for a while. You go get some sleep."

"But."

"He's looking fine. Color back in his face. Don't worry."

"Okay." Joe yawned and dragged himself out of the room.

Adam pulled the armchair closer to the bed and rested his eyes against his hand. When Hoss woke, he'd talk with him, see what he thought. It almost made Adam smile to think he was related to this big, gentle, man. Maybe there was hope for him after all?

Dawn had begun to spread its fingers of light into the room before Hoss stirred. Adam woke instantly and watched the big man as he stretched and yawned. Eventually, Hoss opened his eyes. When he saw Adam, he grinned up at him.

"How's the leg feel, Hoss?"

"A mite sore."

"Can you move your toes?"

"I think so."

Adam watched as he wiggled the sheet with his foot. "That's good."

"I wanna thank you for tendin' to me and bringin' me down off that mountain yesterday."

"My pleasure," said Adam. For some reason he felt nervous for the first time in his life.

"I sure owe you one. You just name it."

"All right. I want to talk something over with you. I found out something last night . . .something important."

"Yeah?"

"It involves this whole family."

"Is that man comin' to get Joe?"

"No, nothing like that. It's about me."

Hoss looked at him with those understanding blue eyes. It gave Adam the courage to confess.

"Do you remember your father telling you that he once had another son called Adam?"

"Yeah, although he never said much about it. He's always been kinda cut up 'bout it, that's for sure. I never pushed him to tell me. With Pa, he can bottle things up pretty good."

Adam nodded and leaned forward in the chair. He rubbed his hands together and examined them, trying to choose the right words.

"Last night I spoke to your father at length. He told me all about what happened to his son. I'm not sure why. Perhaps he was comfortable telling a stranger rather than a member of the family. Or perhaps it was because I had the same name and reminded him of it."

Hoss nodded and waited for more.

"His son drowned in the Mississippi when he was four, while crossing the country. Only it turns out he didn't really drown at all."

"How do you mean?"

"I've always had a funny feeling about the name Cartwright since I was little. I didn't know why. Then last night, I heard something that triggered a floodgate inside my head. I heard a music box."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Neither did I at first. But now I know. I was that little boy. I was your father's son. I got washed down the river but was saved by strangers."

"What?" Hoss's blue eyes widened.

"Yeah. Turns out I've had no memory of it all this time. Familiar things have set them off. Even then I wasn't completely sure, not until your father wanted to see if I had the same scar as his son on my lip. I did. I never knew how I got it."

"But . . .I don't understand. Why didn't Pa find you?"

"He broke his leg trying to save me, so others continued the search. But, looks like they lied to him and told him I'd drowned in order to stop wasting time and move on."

"Pa must be upset," Hoss deduced.

"Truth is, Hoss, I'm not sure what to do or say. He didn't raise me. I'm not four years old anymore."

"How do you feel?"

"I . . ." Adam sighed and rubbed his eyes. "The man who raised me, who I thought was my father, was a very cruel man. I shaped my life around what he taught me. I'm unfeeling, cold and don't have much goodness left inside."

"That's not true." Hoss winced as he tried to sit up higher. "I know I only met ya a week ago, but I'm a pretty good judge of folks. You're a hard worker; you've showed kindness what with saving me and trying to talk Joe out of joinin' up with that gang.

You sing real good, and a man needs to have deep feelin's to do that, I reckon. Thing is, I think you've always had the good stuff in you; maybe you just haven't felt comfortable enough to let it out."

"But I've been poisoned by the way I was raised."

"I'm not so sure." Hoss narrowed his lids and stared hard at him. "Anyone who's Pa's flesh and blood would be strong. Strong enough to survive somethin' like this and come out being a decent man. Sure, you might need to protect yourself by puttin' on a hard face, but soon enough, if you got with the right folks at last, you'd come 'round."

"What are you saying? That I should stay here?"

"Well," smiled Hoss, almost shyly. "I'm darn well chuffed I've got an older brother, 'cause that's what ya are. I sure as heck would like ya to stay a while, get to know ya better. And I'm bettin' Little Joe'd like that too."

"Hmm," replied Adam, not sure of Hoss's advice. "What about your father?"

"Pa'll want ya to stay. It might take him a while to handle the truth, but I know he'll want you with us."

"But I won't be the son he thought I'd be. I know that."

"The son he's dreamed of died. I know him. He'll accept you anyway you are if he thinks he's got a second chance." Hoss spoke softly, steadily. "Give him a chance; give us a chance, and we'll do the same for you."

Adam looked around the room, fidgeted with the material on his seat, trying to decide. Was he supposed to have met his real family again? Should he think about starting again, finding out what his real life should have been?

He looked at Hoss who seemed to be holding his breath. Hoss was a fine man, strong yet gentle, simple yet complex.

"I know you're a bounty hunter, but think about that for a minute," continued Hoss. "You catch these baddies so as good folks can sleep at night without fear. You're riskin' your life for the good of others."

Adam huffed in reply. "Don't forget the money I make doin' it."

"I'll bet you my best rifle you've got most of that money stashed away unspent."

Adam's brows raised in surprise. The fact was he did! He only used enough to live on. "And what if I have?"

"Means you don't do it for the money." Hoss grinned, leaned over and slapped Adam on the arm. "Welcome to the family, brother. That doesn't mean I'm makin' you stay. Just means I'm mighty pleased to have you as my brother."

Adam almost smiled. He had a feeling Hoss could make any man feel good about his decisions in life.

Then he thought about his quarry, Duke Brogan. There were other hunters out there, others who would gladly risk their lives to bring in the bounty of Brogan's head. He knew of at least two not more than a week behind him.

What if he didn't go after him? What if he stayed here and worked through his emerging memories of the past? It wouldn't make a whole lot of difference, would it?

"Whatever you decide, I'll understand," added Hoss as Adam got up and paced the room.

"I should let you get some rest. It's light out. I'll go wash up, and I'll think about all you've said."

"Fine." Hoss smiled. "You're a Cartwright now, Adam. You've got goodness runnin' through your veins and a family who wants ya to stay. Don't forget it."

"I . . .I won't." Adam did smile this time as he left the room. The hallway, still dark, guided him to the parlor. He felt like getting some fresh air, so he went outside.

The emerging sun covered the yard in a golden glow. Roster's crowed, cows lowed in the distance, and the horses snorted in their stalls. Such a different feel to the disorganized, poor farm of his childhood. Where he'd had to complete a dozen chores even before he'd eaten a meager breakfast of wild beans and a small cup of milk.

The woman who'd raised him - the one he'd called Ma - he'd loved. She did the best she could while being beaten and humiliated. Yet, had she really done Adam any good? If she hadn't found him and taken him away from the river's edge, would the search party have found him? He might have made it back to his real father.

He shook his head. There were so many questions. So much to regret and to wonder 'what if'. A shiny, black water pump stood in front of him. He walked over to it, removed his shirt and pumped up a stream of water. Leaning down, he threw it over himself. He gasped with the icy contact but continued to dump water over his head, on his arms and his chest.

It felt good, better than that. It felt cleansing, as if the water tried to wash away the life it had bestowed on him. He'd become a good swimmer and wasn't afraid of the water. Nor should he be afraid of a new start, a second chance at a good life. Adam smiled broadly as he reached for his shirt to dry himself off, knowing what he wanted to do.

"Adam?"

He turned around and saw Ben Cartwright standing on the porch. He looked tired, as if he'd been wrestling with his conscience.

"Morning, sir."

"I . . .was wondering . . .well, if you'd possibly consider . . ."

"Yes?"

Ben walked toward him looking at the water that dripped from his hair, face and shoulders. "This is how I should have found you. Wet, cold, yet still alive. Can you ever forgive me?"

Adam looked deep into the soulful brown eyes of his true father and knew the truth. He did have compassion. He did have a heart, and one day, with this man's guidance, he might learn how to give and love in return.

"I forgive you. It was nobody's fault, just part of life."

Ben's eyes blinked rapidly as a hesitant smile grew on his lips. "Thank you. We've got a lot to catch up on and a lot to learn about one another."

"Yes, sir, we do," agreed Adam. He noticed Ben's voice became stronger, surer with each word.

"I'm going to say something to you that I should have said all those years ago."

"Oh, what?"

"Dry off and come back inside. Breakfast is waiting on you."

Adam half grinned and glanced at the door. He felt a bit like a wild animal being tamed, not sure if he should take the bait or not. He wiped the water from his face and hair. He glanced at Ben, his Pa.

"I'm not sure I'll be welcome by everybody."

"Oh?"

Adam saw Joe at the door. The young man looked at him with a puzzled expression, as if he were seeing him for the first time.

"Hoss says you're our brother," blurted the young man as he came striding out to stand toe to toe with Adam. He frowned, his green eyes blazing with something . . .hate, resentment?

"That's right," said Adam coolly, not sure how to take him.

"It's the truth, Joe," said Ben softly.

"Well, hot diggety!" yelled Joe, a huge grin exploding onto his face. "Always wanted another brother. Let's eat, no telling when we'll get another good feed after Hoss recovers."

Adam watched with surprise as Joe went back into the house. He'd been accepted as quickly as that? He looked back at Ben once more.

"Will you stay? If just for a while?"

Adam started walking toward the door. "I'll stay on one condition."

"Oh, what's that?"

"That I can call you . . .Pa."

Ben grinned and slapped his back. "Son, you can call me anything you like! It's good to have you home."

Adam nodded. "It's good to be home, Pa." He walked into the house and into his new life as if it were an old, comfortable pair of boots.


End file.
